


In the Midst of Life, We Die

by yo_kookie



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Hospital Setting, Hospitalization, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Self-Harm, dude idk i havent posted a fic in so long sorry, ill add more as i go - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-20
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2019-04-25 07:54:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14374308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yo_kookie/pseuds/yo_kookie
Summary: Akechi lives his life in peace and solitude. It isn't ideal, but it's enough. However, his way of serene misery is rudely interrupted when a new tenant is placed in his room.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> heads up for graphic descriptions of self harm, suicide attempts, etc.  
> almost this entire thing takes place in the mental ward of a hospital, so... yeah. please dont come after me for anything i write in this; it will be graphic, it will be suggestive, and it could be triggering. this piece is solely me trying to come to terms with my own similar issues and trying to work through it. 
> 
> that said, i hope you enjoy and please leave any and all feedback in the comments! thank you! ( ´ ▽ ` )ﾉ

When the nurses wheeled in a weak, rusting stretcher, Akechi didn’t even bother lifting his head up to get a better look at who was weighing it down. He watched their veiny hands pick the body up with grace and diligence before they laid him on the bed with kindness they’d never shown him. He thought that perhaps this was another case like him. Transferred from another hospital to only be remembered when it was convenient. It could be someone he could get close to, even though he wouldn’t be willing. They could bond over what it was like to be alone, to have a shitty parent or no parent at all, to have no one like them. Theoretically. But when the nurses dispersed like beady little ants scrambling to get enough food, he was sorely mistaken and angry with himself for having hope.

The nurses parted to give way to some other kid, someone who definitely wasn't here for the same reason he was. Part of his lower half was covered with a faded seafoam blanket, and it rippled down his lap in waves before it ended at the white sand of his stiffly wrapped legs. Something morbid had happened, and this poor kid wouldn't be able to walk right again. Akechi almost felt bad, but empathy was something he had lost with his mother. All he was willing to feel was the annoyance of having another tenant to bother him.

Of course, they'd tried to room him with others before, but that hadn't improved anyone's state of life. The head of the department thought that having someone else in the room would help him open up and be able to relate and begin to show progress. The tenant was gone within days. Akechi was adamant about living the rest of his life there alone, and did what he could to drive the other person to the breaking point. Apart of him wished that he cared, that he thought of them as more than just a pest, but he couldn’t. There was no way he could manage to even begin to care about them more than he did the dust beneath his socks.

Having the doctors put another person in his room, then, must have been an action fueled by desperation.

This was a small hospital. It had no notable reputation, but for some reason it saw a significant amount of patients from the surrounding small towns with lacking medical services. Akechi hadn’t landed here by chance. His father had meticulously picked out a small place that hardly anyone knew about. He was obviously taking this whole situation quite seriously, as he’d done the research himself. After the last two small-town hospitals almost reluctantly, but not really, declared him as a case too big for them to handle, his father had taken to his own private resources to find another place to hide his mistake.

Another nurse came in to check the vitals of the other patient. She was from a different department, because Akechi had never seen her before. He knew all of the nurses in his ward.

Once she’d left, the tenant let out a laboured sigh. Annoying. He winced as he tried to sit up further, dragging his heavy, immovable legs up the mattress and wrinkling the sheets. Pathetic. When he pried his eyes open they looked exhausted, yet still shone. Frustrating. The tenant looked around, taking in the surroundings of a rural hospital room: manilla walls faded from the sunlight seeping in, floral curtains flowing despite there being no breeze, plants overgrown and attempting to leap from their terra cotta pots in hopes of a better life.

The door to the bathroom was open. It was supposed to remain open at all times. Whoever chose to stop in to pester needed to know whether it was occupied or not, for reasons that may not have been so obvious to the new resident. Eyes scanned the room further, watching as each small movement took in what was far too painfully unfamiliar. Then they caught sight of the other bed in the room and the other person in the bed. It was unexpected, but shouldn’t have been.

When the tenant rested his eyes on Akechi and offered a weak smile, he couldn’t help but visibly cringe. His head rested on a pillowless mattress, one void of sheets and only having a thick, heavy blanket on its surface, save for a body. The bags that weighed down his eyes were deep and dark. They contrasted his light hair and his bleached clothing. He stared back, bored. Or perhaps he was unamused? Or could he have been leaning more towards angry? Who could know.

A sigh. Not from the tenant. Akechi edged towards the end of the bed, looking almost like he’d get out of it and greet his roommate. Instead he rolled over, back close to where the mattress ended. Any acknowledgment he made was either unheard or nonexistent. The tenant lingered, waiting for his roommate to roll back over and spark conversation. He looked into the deep cuts exposed from the blanket, the ones that travelled down Akechi’s legs like ladder rungs. He lingered still, then gave in to that hankering exhaustion that refused to quit and closed his eyes.

 

 

The sun set at three fifty four. A minute faster than yesterday. The months of early night were fast approaching, and it was almost time to ask for better clothing. Shorts and a thin t-shirt soon wouldn’t be enough, even under a thick winter blanket. Long sleeves weren’t allowed. Neither were sweaters, but especially those with drawstrings, zippers, or anything else that could be taken off -- that included sleeves. Pants were a little easier to get away with, but most of the rules still applied: nothing could be removed from them. Shirts without sleeves were also not allowed, but those with thin straps were among the worst of them. Shoes were never up for debate. They simply were not allowed. Laces or not, no shoes. Special ensembles remained also undebatable, but weren’t allowed to be worn unless that person was taking time out of his busy life to visit.

Akechi moved from his spot for the first time since he’d turned over at ten o’eight in the morning. He edged closer to the other side of the bed, the one he was the furthest from. His legs gave in when his feet touched the ground and he let his arms support him fully, despite their trembles of protest. The skin that spanned his body burned with some insatiable sensation that he’d never disclose to another. It pricked and tingled and little legs were crawling through his veins. Sweat beaded on his brow as he took as big a breath as he could manage. Parasites continued to trudge through his blood with vigour. There were no signs of them from the outside, of course not, because they weren’t really there and he knew that.

When he could, he stood up straight and told himself he could walk. His body wasn’t entirely convinced, but it was managing. The bathroom was only steps away. Ten tiles until he could hold the door. Eight until he could close it behind him. Four until he could lock it. In only two more he was inside of it and letting himself slip to the floor. Not eating that morning did seem to have some repercussions, but he’d foreseen them when he made the choice.

The feet squirming within his body were freed with a blade, and they sprung out of new openings in his skin. The remnants poured from the crevices. Each new one sent a wave of divine euphoria to his brain and quieted the throes within his head. It made his fingers shake until he couldn’t get a solid grip on the blade and it fell to the floor before he could put it back in its hiding place. Bile rose to his throat, but he was too far gone to let it out. His eyes were pulled down by the gentle fingers of his mother. His breathing was quieted by her timid voice. His consciousness was stolen with her life, and everything was in a state of quiet tranquility.

It was moments, or perhaps minutes, even hours before he was pulled from his heavenly out of body state. The touch of the nurse was cold, but it sparked a fire across his skin as she lifted him up and dragged him from the drab orange walls of the bathroom. She sat him on the bed, mumbling something under her breath, and was clearly angry with him. None of this surprised him. Not a second of it was new.

“We’ve already cut your nails and taken all of the sharp objects from the room. What else do we have to do to make you stop? Where do you keep finding these things?” Her voice was agitated, worn out. She’d seen this time and time again, and it seemed to be getting quite old.

He didn’t answer her. His body was weighed down by the ice she’d given to him through her fingertips. He was cold, yet unfeeling. Everything within him was bogged down and he couldn’t think anything other than I’m tired. It was so simplistic, almost embarrassing especially for someone with his thought calibre, but in times like these he felt like what could be dead. Being dead was a void with nothing to fill it, yet he was still living, still drowning in this nothingness that spanned on forever. He wanted to really be dead. To not have to listen to the nurse bitch and moan about how troublesome he was as she purposefully bandaged his arms much too tight for comfort.

The roughness of the bargain gauze and the tautness of it was enough to bring him back, if only just barely. He lifted his head, looked past the nurse, and into the other tenant. Akechi couldn’t place the expression on his face, nor did he necessarily want to. His only desire was to close his eyes and, best case scenario, not open them again.

When the nurse finished, she sighed and cleaned up the mess he’d made in the bathroom. She said something about the blood, about how much of it there was and how it was a miracle, not a curse, that he was still breathing. He didn’t care too much to listen. His head was in other places, and his attention was somewhere else entirely. He held eyes with the tenant, though Akechi looked through him, not at him. He wanted to know what the intruder thought. What he was thinking, what he was feeling, if he bled. The tenant had seen everything, something Akechi was well aware of, but he didn’t look afraid or angry. Those were the two reactions he never failed to receive, but the tenant wasn’t feeling either of those.

What the hell could he be feeling, then?

The world faded before Akechi could watch the nurse walk out of the room with a metal trash can full of bloodied cloths. Light dissipated until there was nothing, and slowly, but surely, the tenant was distancing himself, though perhaps not willingly. It was cold for awhile. An embrace too frigid to stop at his bones. It seeped beneath his skin, absorbed into the marrow of his bones and stopped with frozen hands clutching his core.

This was death. It had to be. Nothing was as lonely or cold or unfeeling as death was. There could be no explanation for it. He was dying and he was damn grateful for it.

But when he opened his eyes to a dim light hovering above him, he cursed himself for having hope once again. He cursed to the god that had instilled the breath of life into him. The cruel, selfish god that gathered him from dust and made him into something living, breathing, and suffering. His encounter with Death had been welcomed. The briskness of Death’s cold handshake was taken thankfully. He’d have gotten to his knees and worshipped the ground that Death’s toes touched if it meant this all could end, but by some disgustingly vicious fate, he was brought back from the only restful sleep he ever could have gotten.

His arms ached with the familiar pangs of regret. Not regret of the action, but regret of not cutting deeper, not ending it. He knew how deep it had to be, but he always stopped before he hit the depth that guaranteed his death. It wasn’t fear that halted him or worry over others that held tight onto his wrists or even hesitation at the mere thought that this would end it all. It was the bitter thought weighing heavily on his shoulders that if he died, then his father would win.

This wasn’t some childish contest. It was born from the pettiness that had grew from the feeling of painful abandonment. His thirst to come out on top of this deeply rooted vendetta held him back. He was stalled each and every time he took blade to skin by the assurance that if he lived, his father wouldn’t win. It was all that kept him going. No matter how much he wanted to throw himself from the window and pretend he could fly or drown himself in the toilet because neither the shower nor the sink had a stopper or to just not be theatrical about it and let himself bleed to death, he could never do it.

He could never bite the bullet and just do it because the prospect of his father coming out on top was sickening. As long as he was alive, he could exist as a bane on his father’s existence. The one secret that, if it somehow got leaked to the public, could end his career. What couldn’t he be accused of if word got out he’d locked his son away for his entire life? The detailed stories of what how he’d sinned would end him, and that was what drove Akechi to stop. His contempt for his father ruled his life as much as his suicidal tendencies did.

The tenant was still there when he rolled over, but this time there were visitors. Akechi received a visitor every few months when he was deemed useful, but it’d hardly been a day and the new tenant already had two people at the bedside. One of them had smuggled in a cat. Entertaining.

“Dude, I feel like shit for letting that happen to you,” one of the visitors said. He was blond with dark roots growing in from beneath the bright yellow of his hair. “I hope your leg heals better than mine did.”

“Stop feeling sorry for yourself.” A girl sighed. She was the other visitor. Her eyes were a bright blue, bluer than the sky.

The tenant laughed, twirling a piece of his hair. “Really, Ryuji, don’t worry about it,” his voice was soft. Gentle. Reassuring. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

The blonde seated himself on the bed with fervour and threw his head back, leaning and hovering just above his friend’s bandaged legs. “Man, you’re so damn forgiving. I don’t get it. How can you not even be a little bit pissed off? You’re gonna be here for, like, forever or something.”

The three chattered with each other for longer than Akechi could stand. Even watching that cat purr and look so relaxed in the tenant’s lap made his skin crawl. There were too many people in his room and they brought in far too much noise. It made the sounds of his youth ring in his ears. Sounds of raw discord and terror and everything else that came with putting a large handful of mentally unhealthy kids in the same small space.

His skin stung with the feeling of hands on him and the adrenaline reaching his brain told him to lash out, but he couldn’t. He had better control of himself than the others. He’d always known he was better than they were. Even when their threats lurked over his head and those threats in turn became actions, he could control himself. They weren’t like him, and he knew that. No one was the same as he was, and that wasn’t because they were better, it was because he was. No one in those countless little outpatient facilities could match his intelligence, his control, his cold facade. He’d picked up different habits from them, though. Ones that he knew how and when he could use. You shrunk into yourself and let your voice tremble when you wanted the doctors to be gentle with you. You hit other patients when you wanted to be alone in the dark room. You became cold and unfeeling when you wanted to be left alone, though most couldn’t pick that up. You smiled and laughed when you wanted to leave. When they wouldn’t let you leave, you tried to kill yourself.

He couldn’t quite remember how he’d ended up here, but it was at the end of a long line of hospitals. This wouldn’t be the last one, he was well aware of that, but this was the most recent one. It was the smallest, too. As he grew older his father placed him in more obscure places because with age came knowledge and feelings that were harder to swallow. Threats were less likely to remain empty when he could hold power behind his punch. His father had passed to him that angry disposition, and he was left with no way to cope. Folding paper or writing down your feelings or sharing them with others was all complete bullshit. None of that ever helped. There was more repressed in him than he’d like to admit. Expressing what he felt would lead to over sharing which would rip that bandaid right off and everything would spill out.

And he wasn’t willing to break again.

The loud chatter continued, but instead of laying there just to keep listening in on a conversation he didn’t like, Akechi hauled himself out of his bed and headed to the bathroom once again. He was eager to be enclosed in that small orange box. It still smelled like bleach from when the nurse cleaned it, a scent that burned his lungs with toxic familiarity. While the tenant’s and his friend’s idle conversation battered on, it was obvious their eyes were on him as he slammed the door. That soft voice came again, it was the tenant’s voice. It made his body ache in a way that was too new to like.

“That isn’t good.”

“What’s up, dude?” The blond asked, and he was so loud, as if he wasn’t even trying to keep quiet. “Your roommate seems like a total dick.”

“Ryuji!” The girl shrieked and slapped him in the head. Akechi could imagine his grimace. “Don’t you have eyes, you idiot?”

“What the hell? Why’d you do that, Takamaki? He’s obviously a dick. Just slammed the door and everything. Didn’t even say hi.”

The girl hushed her voice, but not well enough. The doors were thin. “Didn’t you see his legs? This is the mental ward, right? Don’t say stupid stuff like that. He’s probably sensitive.”

Before another word about him could be uttered, Akechi let out a laugh he didn’t know he’d been holding in. It wasn’t some laugh of genuine joy, but wasn’t an artificial one, either. It was bitter and condescending, and, God, he couldn’t believe how stupid these people were. Sensitive? That was hilarious. Nothing about him was sensitive. She thought that just because he had cuts he was susceptible to something as insignificant as an insult? It was so laughable that he was almost in tears. He didn’t put marks on his skin because of something as pathetic as low self confidence or self hatred. At first he could have, but that was too far in the past for him to even remember. All he knew was that he’d picked it up the second time he was institutionalised. There was a girl there who loathed herself so much she felt as though making herself bleed was a punishment fit for her mythical crimes. She was so pitiable. Her healing wounds made her look undesirable to the other patients. Made it look as though she wanted the attention of everyone, so that they could bestow their sympathy upon her worthless shoulders.

Akechi tried it when she was discharged. He’d interrogated her to the point of hysterics right before they took her out. He wanted to know everything; what she did, how she did it, and when the best time was to do it. Armed with her lackluster advice and a little razor he’d smuggled from another patient, he made the first minor incision during a shower. It was fascinating. The blood seeped from his skin and fell to the floor, only to be diluted by water. He was more enamoured than he should have been, and recklessly tore up his arms until his head grew foggy and he couldn’t stand for another second. The following days weren’t commendable. He should have been less careless and more methodical.

His laughing stopped when he realised that the others had gone silent. He cut himself off abruptly, deciding that it wasn’t funny anymore. Only a child would laugh for this long over something so menial. He should have been ashamed, yet he felt nothing. It was the void that came after feeling, something he knew better than his own mother.

 

 

“You hear that? He’s laughin’ at us!” Ryuji said, rolling up the sleeve of his sweatshirt. “Told you he’s a dick. Let me take care of him for you, Akira. He won’t bother you anymore.”

“Quit being so hot headed, dumbass.” Ann sighed, holding the bridge of her nose between two fingers.

“Are you serious? Didn’t you just hear that? He was laughing at you, Takamaki. You still want to take his side?”

“Guys,” Akira breathed, looking to the both of them. “I honestly have no clue who he is, please don’t make the first impression a bad one.”

Ryuji dismissed him with a wave of his hand before he laid back onto the mattress beside Akira’s legs. “Whatever, man. You’re too forgiving. I came here hoping you’d pound me for runnin’ out in the road.”

Akira offered him a smile, curling a piece of his hair around his finger. “Like I said, don’t worry about it. You were just trying to save Morgana. You’re sure Yusuke couldn’t make it, though?”

“Yeah, sorry,” Ann pulled her phone from her pocket. “He said, ‘Send Akira my best regards, as well as a sincere apology for not being able to visit. I am trapped in a battle of mind and canvas, and need to gather the necessary inspiration in order to win this age old battle.’” She read it in her best impression of his voice. They all laughed, and Akira wished Yusuke was there to see it.

“Basically, he doesn’t know what to paint.” Ryuji said, giving Akira a crooked smile. “He’s gonna come next time, though. For sure.”

Ann warned him not to break into Yusuke’s dorms, and her and Akira shared a laugh at his big reaction. They continued their idle banter for another hour before Ann remembered her exams were coming up and promptly shooed both Ryuji and Morgana from the room. She assured Akira they’d be back as soon as they could, with Yusuke, and to keep his eye on the group chat. Akira bid them farewell, an excited grin on his lips, before the room fell silent again. He toyed with the edges of his blanket while the boredom set in. They were rough and thin and he didn’t particularly like sleeping beneath them.

Eventually his mind wandered and his head fell back. His gaze was met with the square ceiling tiles and he sighed. Sure, he’d saved Ryuji from this unbearably dull fate, but apart of him wished he’d just yelled to him instead of running out into the road with him. Sometimes he hated sacrificing everything he had for others. There was never any time for himself. Once he moved back to his hometown it was a bit easier. No messages waiting for him after school finished, asking to hang out. No more odd tasks that he had to go out of his way to do. All he received now were forlorn text messages from people saying that they missed him. The thoughts were nice, even enough to evoke a smile and warm feeling in his chest, but he enjoyed this time to himself.

A nurse snapped him from his interior musings. Her white loafers sounding against the floor caused him to sit up. She had a clipboard in her fingers and her hair was tied back so tightly it looked like it was taking her face with it. She looked up when she crossed the threshold, and immediately stalled. “Where’s Akechi?” She glanced around the room before resting her eyes on Akira, awaiting his answer.

“Who,” he began before he realised who she was talking about. “He’s in the bathroom.”

The nurse sighed and dropped her clipboard on Akechi’s bed, sticking her hand in her pocket only to produce a single key. She walked to the door, knocking once, asking Akechi to open up, before she put the key in the lock without waiting for a response. She didn’t bother to say a word as she dragged Akechi from the bathroom. He was lethargic. His body was heavy as she pulled him across the floor, though, she didn’t seem to be having much difficulty, if any. There was nothing to him.

Akira noticed it as the nurse dragged Akechi’s heels across the floor and watched the blood drip down his legs. When she dropped him on the bed, Akechi supported himself with his drooping spine. His arms were limp at his sides and his legs dangled off of the bed, his toes barely brushing the floor tiles. The nurse let out another heaving sigh as she used the same gauze he’d unravelled from his arms to bandage them again. For his legs, she instead stuck to some haphazardly placed band-aids as she quite obviously didn’t care. After she’d stuck him back together, she took a cloth from one of her pockets and dropped it to the floor, mopping up the little droplets that had fallen in the short journey from the bathroom to Akechi’s bed. She picked up the cloth when she cleaned up the brunt of it, leaving noticeable red streaks on the floor before she closed the door to the bathroom and left, only leaving, “I wish the old man would just let you die,” in her wake.

There was a long stretch of silence, one even impermeable to Akira’s soft, but concerned, “Are you alright?” Akechi didn’t even move in response to him. He sat, back arched and head downcast, and didn’t say a word. Of course, Akira wanted to do what he could to help. Helping everyone was always in his best interest, but due to the last time he attempted to help, he couldn’t pass on his kindness any further. All he could do was awkwardly wait for a response in a room that felt like a bad taste in his mouth. He tried not to stare, really did, but his worry wouldn’t permit that. At least, he told himself it was worry. He knew it wasn’t something so selfless.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sometimes you just have to loop “ready now” from the moominvalley soundtrack and finish a chapter that you’ve been too tired (or distracted) to write  
> please enjoy! and thank you for your patience! expect chapter 3… someday !

Eyes grated across Akechi’s skin. He knew that because he was used to it. It wasn’t the same as skin against his own. That was something much worse, much more painful, but being stared at still wasn’t pleasant. As much as he loathed being looked at so closely for so long, he couldn’t find it in himself to care. And he really did want to care. He wanted to take that asshole and his friends and wring them all by their goddamn necks just for being so stupid. The blonde one talked like he was illiterate. The girl seemed like the kind to only care when it meant something for her. That fucking tenant was like a nosy, selfish shithead. He thought that he’d made it clear that he didn’t want anyone here with him, that the only thing he needed was to be left the hell alone, but no one seemed to understand that. No one seemed to be able to get it through their thick-fucking-skull that Akechi just wanted to be left the hell alone.

It didn’t seem like the memo had even been processed yet, because suddenly he wasn’t just staring at the floor. He was looking at another pair of feet.

“Akechi,” said that faux-caring, no-fucks-giving voice. It was his doctor.

He repeated his name, and tipped Akechi’s head up by his chin, forcing him to look up from the ground. He’d shaved since the last time Akechi saw him, and his eyes had gotten narrower, stupider. The damn man was going blind. He probably couldn’t tell a cut from a bruise by now.

“If you don’t make progress soon, we’ll have to send you to an outpatient facility. Tell me, what is it that we can do for you here?” He offered a smile, one that made Akechi’s blood burn.

Akechi didn’t respond immediately. Of course he wouldn’t. He didn’t even want to give this man the time of day, let alone some bullshit response that he won’t even care to listen to. The pause stretched on, though, far surpassing what an actual ‘pause in conversation’ could be, and Akechi realised that the expectant look his doctor was giving him was the frustrated patience of waiting for his reply.

“You’re not saying that because you care,” Akechi said back. It obviously wasn’t what his doctor wanted to hear, which made it the perfect response.

The doctor’s face twisted into some kind of hilarious, wretched frown. He struggled to get the words out, and it was something so expectedly lackluster. Only a simple, cliche, “and why would you think that?”

He laughed, right in his doctor’s face, and didn’t feel a hint of guilt. “You’re just saying that because you know if I kill myself my father will sue you and put this pathetic little place out of business. I know that up front, you were handed some unimaginable sum of money so you’d accept, and once you were trapped in the deal, Father told you what an unsolvable case I am. He does it to everyone, and you were greedy enough to take such an irrefutable deal because you thought he was some good, caring father. It’s so laughable and typical. You all think that if you show some generosity, it can heal the unhealable wounds. Pathetic. You’re lying to yourself. You’re only in this for the money, and if I’m dead, then there’s no money.”

There was another half-assed response from the doctor, one that Akechi didn’t bother hearing.

“It’s not as if that actually matters, though,” he continued. “If I kill myself, then he wins. Though he does rarely visit. In all honesty, we could strike a deal, and you could let me die but continue to take his payments. It’d be pretty messy if he found out about it, though. He’d sue you for malpractice, fraud, neglect, or something to those effects. Either way, it looks like you’re screwed. You can keep up your ‘unbeatable care’ charade until you’re forced to put me somewhere else, or you can let me die and get sued out of all your money. We all know this hospital is on it’s last leg, and that it’s the reason I’m still here, but no matter how you look at it, this sorry little place will be out of business in no time. Then all your patients are left to the shady county doctors.”

With that, the conversation was over. It was the last bit of bite Akechi had left in him before his energy was gone. He was exhausted suddenly, and couldn’t snicker at his doctor’s tight-lipped red face. With a, “Very well,” his doctor was gone and Akechi let himself lay back on the bed, his legs still hanging off the edge. He sighed, letting his eyes slip closed. The heavy desire of death hung over him, filling him with the usual existential dread. In moments, he was lulled into another restless sleep.

 

 

 

Akira watched the conversation until its abrupt end. He felt the tensity that settled in the room as Akechi’s doctor excused himself, looking terribly humiliated. He was a gruff, round man, one that probably walked out with a red face often. Clearly, he wasn’t too fond of how Akechi spoke to him, and Akira couldn’t decide who was in the right. For all he knew, the doctor had done nothing wrong and Akechi was just a pompous asshole.

Though… that didn’t seem too right in all honesty.

He’d been bedridden for three days, forced to share this confined space with someone that was there for completely different reasons. In that time he’d seen Akechi suffer an unimaginable amount. He was well acquainted with this setting, it seemed. He knew how to work the nurses and the doctors to get what he wanted. On one hand, he was manipulative and stuck-up, and on the other he was in pain, so much goddamn pain. He’d listened to him cry himself to sleep both of the nights he’d been there.

A part of Akira wanted to help him, heal his wounds, but he wasn’t here to help people. He was here because the last time he played hero both of his legs were crushed and he didn’t wake up until a day and a half after the incident. Who was he to decide if someone like Akechi was worth saving? He didn’t know who he was or why exactly he was here. It wasn’t any of his business. He was in this room out of circumstance, and he should take the time to relax, not worry himself to death over his temporary roommate.

Akira watched the sun set on Akechi’s sleeping body before he rolled over to the best of his ability and went to sleep.

 

A string of text tones roused Akira first thing in the morning. He tore his eyes open to his phone screen bright and loud. It was really… going off. He grabbed for it quickly, opening up his messaging app the moment he unlocked it. The group chat was alive and kicking as he struggled to comprehend what exactly was happening. He had never been lucid upon first waking.

_dude. this sucks. summer classes are the worst._

Ryuji. He should've expected this in all honesty. The entire chat thread was Ryuji lamenting about his day trapped in the hot indoors. He loved Ryuji, but sometimes he got carried away. Just a little.

As he scrolled through the walls of text he couldn't stop the smile that grew on his lips. He was endearing. Though as the messages kept popping up and the tone kept playing, Akira got a disdainful, “Can you please shut that up?” from across the room.

“Sorry,” he responded quickly and muted the notifications before he did a quick once over on the messages and put his phone back on the table beside his bed. He rolled over onto his back and the room devolved into another uncomfortable silence.

They both laid there for hours, though Akira did eventually pick his phone once he grew tired of waiting for Akechi to say something. He busied himself with several different social media platforms, messaging his friends, and, his last ditch effort, mobile games. He played with the sound off, careful not to rouse Akechi, though he may not have been sleeping. Several meals had come and gone at this point, and it seemed like he had denied all of them. It was just day four in this room, though. Akira wasn’t exactly sure of the routine here yet. A part of him hoped he wouldn’t have to stay to learn it.

“I’m so tired of hearing you tap-tap-tapping on that thing.” Akechi’s words were out of the blue, enough to make Akira jump. The sun was beginning to set, and Akira wondered where the day had gone when he turned to look at Akechi.

“I’m sorry,” he offered meekly in response. “I just don’t know what else to do.”

Akechi gave a dry laugh, “Of course you don’t. I’m sure you don’t know much of anything, do you?” There was a soft, “Especially manners,” muttered under his breath.

Akira laughed in an attempt to break up the tension. “You’ve been here for a little bit, right? Know anything to do?” The accident must have made him stupid, too.

“You’re so obnoxious.” He snapped back. Akira couldn’t see his face, but he could guess his expression.

Akira offered another apology his way before he rolled back onto his side. He resigned to using his phone again. He’d since plugged it in, and using it while laying on his back caused the charger to jab into his chest. At least he was a little more comfortable and didn’t have to face Akechi anymore.

 

Dinner came once the sun went down, and Akira was offered a brief respite from Ryuji’s exciting play-by-play of his life. The nurse who brought the food was different from the ones from the past few days. She had a young face, and kind eyes.

“How have you been feeling?” She asked after she’d set the tray down on the rolling table across his lap.

Akira smiled, “Alright. There isn’t really much to do here, so it’s been a slow day.”

She nodded, understanding. “There is a TV, but I’m afraid that’s about all you can do. Once you recover a little more, you might be able to go around the grounds.” As she was speaking, she walked to a cabinet just out of reach of him and opened the small doors on the front of it. Inside was nestled a small TV and a remote that she brought back to him and placed lightly on the table next to his food.

Akira thanked her graciously and added, “I had no idea it was there.”

“It’s a little bit out of the way, and pretty cleverly disguised.” She laughed softly. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

He shook his head and thanked her again before she took her leave. Once she was gone, he picked up he remote and was about to turn the TV on when he was reminded that he wasn’t alone in the room.

“If you turn that thing on, you won’t leave this hospital alive.” Akechi chimed.

Akira sighed, and leaned back in his bed, sparing Akechi a glance. He was sitting up this time, legs hanging off the bed and attention on Akira.

“You were awfully chatty just now,” Akechi hummed. “You must be yearning for a real conversation.”

“What if I mute it and turn on captions? Could I watch it then?”

“If you must,” he answered after a few seconds of deliberation. “You’re free to watch it with volume for now, though. I have something to do, anyway. Just keep it quiet when I get back. That isn’t a threat.”

Before Akira could raise any questions, Akechi got out of bed and left. No word of where he was going or when he would return. With another, much more tired sigh, Akira turned on the TV and after flipping through a few channels, he began eating his dinner.

 

 

 

Akechi arrived back to his room later than he anticipated. It had taken longer than usual because he was distracted, because he was too busy occupying his thoughts with the person invading his space to notice when the medication actually took effect. He lost the buzz halfway through, and ended up taking twice his regular dose to make up for it. Thus, he was left almost stumbling through his door.

The quiet voices in his room caught him off guard, and in his intoxicated state, he feared he was hallucinating again. However, when he managed to get completely into his room, he realised the television was on and remembered the brief conversation he had with the person who was watching it. Or had been watching it. It seemed like he had fallen asleep with it on. He thought he may have laughed, but didn’t dwell on it as he retired to his own bed. He had to sleep before the meds wore off and the self loathing set in.

He’d save the quarreling for tomorrow when he could care about it. For now, the TV was nothing more than smothered noises that lulled him into a drug-induced sleep.

 

He never actually brought it up. As much as he abhorred having another person in his space, he couldn’t find it in himself to turn the TV off. He didn’t particularly want to think about why, but it could have been because the often dramatically violent woes of whatever soap opera queen was popular these days filled something that he, begrudgingly, couldn’t do without. Thus, he let the tenant get on with his days of melodramatic entertainment with only minimal outward disdain for it.

Sometimes, the tenant used daytime soaps to spark conversation.

“See that lady right there?” He had pointed to an older woman on the screen. One with long, dark hair and her bangs covering one of her eyes. She was lamenting… Something. Akechi hadn’t been paying attention.

“That’s Junko Kurosu.” The tenant continued. “I met her once. She used to be in a lot of dramas in the ‘80s and ‘90s. I saw her by chance in a Big Bang Burger, right before her big comeback last year. I know the TV cameras make are supposed to make her look younger, but believe me, that’s exactly what she looks like. I swear, she’ll never age.”

“Riveting,” Akechi responded, his tone stale. He wasn’t too concerned on the dynamics of this chance-meeting that the tenant went on about. Though, he did admit, the presence was nice. No, not nice. Comforting? No. He wouldn’t go that far to compliment this annoyance, but having _something_ there to distract him was better than nothing. But he wouldn’t get used to this, because it wouldn’t last. Nothing lasted, and he knew that. He wouldn’t like this and he wouldn’t get used to this.

The tenant went on about Junko Kurosu, despite Akechi being lost in his own train of thought. It all went over his head until he was asked, “Hey, can my friends visit Sunday?”

Akechi blinked, fixing his gaze on Junko Kurosu lamenting the broken relationship between her and her son, and how she desperately wanted repair it. “Excuse me?”

“My friends. Can they visit Sunday? There’s no school on Sundays, and-”

“Why are you asking me?”

The tenant shrugged. “Well, you know, this is your room, and last time they were here it seemed like they really upset you. So, I figured I’d ask instead of having them just show up.”

He hesitated on his answer, weighed what it would cost him versus how it could benefit him. In all honesty, there really was no benefit other than a migraine, but he found himself reluctantly saying, “It doesn’t matter to me. Do as you like.”

And just like that, he’d sealed his own fate.

The few days preceding the weekend, Akechi knew he wouldn’t be so well-equipped to handle a gaggle of typical, every-day teenagers. He’d had the privilege, up until now, to never have to interact with that many people. Group therapies in the children’s ward of outpatient facilities were nothing. They could be so easily navigated to the point where he could make up whatever he wanted in order to make him unapproachable. The kids there typically knew better, because when you were there, trauma was a contest. Whoever had it worse was the one that was the best. Though the maternal-types tended to dote on those with deep-rooted, prolonged trauma, and Akechi did have to admit that he was susceptible to those kinds of people, he never failed to push someone away. No one was ever particularly tenacious in such a position of vulnerability.

Which is why, unfortunately, he found himself feeling so out of place when three teens and a cat had situated themselves on the right side of his room. He stayed on his side, inoffensive and observant. He’d half considered hiding in the bathroom again and just listening to them, but apart of him was just so undeniably _curious_ on what they were like. The tenant, who he’d learned was named Akira, was so meek and innocuous. He needed to know who chose to be friends with such a nondescript human being.

Yusuke was the only one to greet him out of the three. He stopped at Akechi’s bed and held his hand out in greeting, introducing himself as Yusuke Kitagawa, first year student at a reputable university and studying contemporary Japanese art, among other things. He thanked him for taking care of his dear friend Akira, and Akechi was, in all honesty, at a loss of words. He offered a weak, “Sure,” as acknowledgement, but that was honestly all he had in him after that encounter.

He felt like he’d made a mistake after Yusuke walked away. The anxiety rising in his stomach was a very tell-tale sign of this, but it was too late to back out. He wouldn’t give things just to take them away. He wasn’t his father.

Ann was the girl from last time. She wasn’t that snobbish as he had originally thought. Her words showed a little more intellect and awareness than he had anticipated. With her light eyes and hair, though, she stuck out like a sore thumb. The same went for Ryuji, who was virtually the same as last time. Kind of boorish, spoke in partials of words, et cetera, et cetera. Still vulgar, too. His roots were starting to grow back in, and Akechi briefly wondered what the purpose had been of bleaching his hair. He just couldn’t see the appeal.

They stayed for the whole day, and Akechi learned a lot. He wouldn’t say he was enriched by their visit, but he still learned something. He’d never really seen other people his age interact in a setting that wasn’t completely miserable. The fractured friendships that kids tended to form in an outpatient facility were always so broken, so fragile, but Akira and his friends seemed so close. A small argument that would typically destroy a friendship between two weak-minded patience wouldn’t do anything to even damper the relationship between the people in front of him. That information in itself almost baffled him.

When they left, Yusuke again interacted with a parting word. The other two still seemed a little off put by his presence, but in all honesty, it didn’t bother him in the slightest. He was used to it. No one ever truly paid him mind in his youth unless he had something of merit to say to them, which was, admittedly, almost never.

Once his friends had left, Akira oriented himself in his bed to face Akechi, who found it pathetic how much effort it took him to simply turn.

“Sorry they were here for so long,” he let out a hint of a laugh. “I hope they didn’t bother you too much?”

Akechi had it half in him to just turn away and ignore him, but he was feeling a little generous today, it seemed. “Do they always have to bring that cat? Only service animals are permitted here.”

“Oh, that’s Morgana. He’s apart of the group, honestly. Futaba has been looking after him while I’m here because, as you said, no animals.”

Something in him changed after that sentence. The look on Akira’s face infuriated him. That carefree smile, the way he ran his hand through his hair, his body language, all of it just made Akechi unbelievably irritable. Perhaps his social energy was low, or perhaps he was just sick of seeing that ignorant smile on Akira’s face.

“Well,” he began, attempting to control his tone. “Let them know that if they bring it in here again, I won’t hesitate to notify the nurses.” With that, he laid back down in his bed and turned away from him. Akira tried to add an additional apology, but he ignored it. He could care less about the bullshit he had to spew.

 

 

 

_Hey guys, bad news._

It was a few hours after everyone had left, and any and all attempts to probe for something out of Akechi went unsuccessfully. He had resigned to turning his TV on the lowest volume possible and reaching out to his friends via one of their several group chats.

_sup?_

Ryuji answered almost immediately. Akira should’ve expected as much. He quickly typed out a response, trying his best to not incriminate the roommate he knew nothing about.

_Akechi said the nurses caught on to you bringing Morgana in. Maybe leave him at home next time? I shouldn’t be here much longer, anyway_

_akechi?_   
_oh_   
_your roommate or whatever_   
_you sure hes tellin the truth? we really made sure no one saw mona_   
_seems like he just has it out for you dude :/_

_Yeah it does seem that way…_

Ann chimed in. Akira tried his best to defend Akechi, even going as far to mention that he was kind of invading his space. The small argument quickly devolved into Ryuji complaining about his homework, much to Akira’s convenience. He didn’t have it in him to keep deflecting Ryuji’s accusatory, “ _idk he just seems like a dick._ ”

When Ryuji and Ann finally resigned to bed -- Akira assumed the others had either been preoccupied or already asleep -- he put his phone to sleep on his bedside table and laid back. He released the tension in his shoulders that he didn’t realise he was holding on to. Everything about Akechi just seemed too complex. Akira earnestly thought that they were on better terms. The TV had been on, with volume, constantly, and sometimes Akechi even engaged with the daytime soap opera conversations! Though he had learned absolutely nothing personal about his roommate, Akira did pick up on some of his different body language.

He knew to stop pressing when Akechi began to stiffen his shoulders. When he was thinking, Akechi held chin and looked to the ground. Akira found out early not to press him, or else he would lock himself in the bathroom. However, it became very apparent that Akira couldn’t define what was pressing and what wasn’t. Things that were completely okay in the morning became untouchable subjects at night, and vice versa. There was something chaotic and unstable about Akechi. Or maybe there several things that were so. He honestly couldn’t tell because Akechi kept everything, even his own name, so locked up. Of course, if he could actually leave his bed, then maybe Akira would have a little more luck with that last one.

He sighed and touched the casts on his legs from over the blanket on his lap. Every night he did this. There was no particular reason, really, perhaps other than to quell whatever self loathing that began to plague him. The persistent what-if’s were able to be snuffed out with quiet reassurances that _y_ _ou did a good a thing_ , though every night it proved to be a little more difficult.

Again, he looked over at Akechi, whose back was still to him. A heavy feeling always washed over him whenever he looked at him. There was so much that was unsaid about Akechi, so much that wanted to be said, and apart of Akira desperately wanted to help him, to get to know him like no one else cared to. Sure, maybe he couldn’t fix him, but he wanted to try. He’d been telling himself to back off, that this was the job for a mental health professional, but even they had seemed to have given up on him.

Akira didn’t want to give up. He wanted to be there. He wanted to offer some degree of reprieve from the misery that Akechi had shouldered, but could he be enough? Could he do anything to lessen the pain that Akechi soldiered through?

That was a question he couldn’t answer, and perhaps one he didn’t want to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey big shoutout to those who caught that spicy p2 reference… more of those to come (as well as references to other games) bc p2 is one of my favourite persona games and it needs more love bc it has some of the deepest, most real characters
> 
> anyways thank you for your patience and sorry it took so long! also sorry if this chapter seemed weird/disorganised it’s been a really long time since i’ve actually sat down and written something so long/serious so i’m rusty;; i tried to make goro and akira’s narratives sound different, and have goro’s change depending on his mood, so hopefully i was able to manage that ?  
> i really appreciate any kind of feedback/comments, though, so feel free to leave anything if you’d like! i’ll see y’all in chapter 3 uwu


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